Taste
by thatswhyyyoudont
Summary: Jerry Peter slash. PWP. Set after the 2011 movie, Peter is visited in hospital. Non-con.
1. Chapter 1

Half conscious, Peter didn't know what had woken him. He couldn't make out anything in the darkness to give him a clue, and was only vaguely aware that something was wrong. Attempting to shift on the bed, it took him several moments to realise why he couldn't; his wrists were bound in straps to the metal frame of the bed. A flicker of panic went through him as he realised, tugging harder as his head cleared. No real fear, not yet, mostly just bewilderment.

He thought over the evening, watching TV and going to sleep after a quick flirt with the nurse. No medication, nothing like that. He was only here for a rest, for Christ's sake, for the bed and the the nice people who gave him what he wanted and then left him alone again, so if there'd be he'll to pay if there had been some kind of mix up-

His mind cut off the thought as he began to hear, faintly, footsteps. Heavy ones. One man, not staff, in boots instead of soft soles. Peter shivered involuntarily. It can't be, a weak little voice in his head protested. Rationally, that was true, but Peter somehow knew, with more certainty as the footsteps came closer to the door, in the very core of his being that it was him. He forced himself to breathe. The protesting, rational voice in his head grew weaker and weaker.

The door opened, the overbright lights from the corridor flashing into Peter's unadjusted eyes and making him wince. A broad, dark figure shut the door behind him, leaving Peter in darkness once more. Instinctively, He made for the bedside lamp, the pressure on his wrist reminding him why he couldn't. The footsteps resumed, approaching Peter's bed, and now even though he couldn't see, Peter had no doubt of who it was.

"Hey, Peter." That voice. That voice still set him shaking, sending him back to that first time, his eyes screwed shut with his hands clamped over his ears, pretending he was safe and somewhere, anywhere, else.

That time, he hadn't cried or screamed or made a sound. Now, he opened his mouth, but before he could even take a breath, a hard hand was clamped over his lips.

"Don't," said a low voice, close to Peter's ear, with quiet emphasis. "Or I'll have to hurt you." He waited, making sure Peter acknowledged this, and released him slowly. Peter could feel him studying him, imagining his smirk. "Atta boy," he said quietly.

Finally, Peter's eyes found his in the dark, human-like, not yet dilated to their true demonic black. "Please don't kill me," He found the plea leaving his mouth involuntarily. He didn't expect an appeal for mercy to work.

"I won't."

Peter felt a movement on the bed below his waist, a hand trailing along the bed towards his legs.

"Not if you do as you're told."

The vampire glanced between his hand and Peter's eyes, now pushing the blanket up, and Peter's hospital gown with it, exposing him. Peter let out a little whimper, as Jerry's hand slid between his legs and took hold of him. He tried to move his legs, when the vampire suddenly gripped one of them with his free hand, painfully hard.

"No. Keep still."

He began to play with Peter in slow, teasing strokes, and as terrified, disgusted, as he was, Peter could feel himself growing hard. He shut his eyes and turned his face away, trying to seperate himself from his body. He bit his lip to keep a sob from escaping his throat, breathing in shudders. "What the fuck are you doing?"

The vampire ignored him. Still working his hand, Jerry shifted and leaned in to Peter's throat, his body warming him. His heat bewildered Peter. He was dead, wasn't he?

"So like your mom," he murmured against Peter's throat, mouth hot, fangs grazing his taut skin. Peter steeled himself, waiting for it. "I wonder if you taste like her."

Peter's breath caught, but the vampire only increased the firmness of his strokes, and it made Peter groan unwillingly.

"If you only knew how good your scent is," he growled, sliding his free hand from Peter's leg up his gown to a nipple, squeezing it gently. Peter whimpered again, and it seemed to soften him a little. "I'm not your enemy, Peter," he murmured. "Look at you. No-one's ever reacted this quickly, this...eagerly. And you haven't even had a taste yet. You want this. It'll be like...having a family again." With an abrupt movement, he tore Peter's gown open with his claws. Smoothing the material aside, he ducked his head and flicked his tongue deftly over Peter's nipple, and, despite himself, Peter couldn't help a little growl of desire escape his mouth.

"You bastard," he said weakly, when he recovered, sounding unconvincing even to his own ears.

Jerry took his hand away. Peter made an involuntary little noise of protest and opened his eyes. The vampire had the tip of his finger between his lips, and at first Peter thought he was licking the pre-come from his cock. Then a trickle of blood ran down, and Peter realised he had cut the skin with his fangs. He couldn't help but watch with a kind of sickened fascination as Jerry smeared the blood into the inside of his mouth, and dabbed droplets onto his lips. He gave a start when Jerry's hand went to the back of his neck, realisation dawning, cringing at the intimacy of it.

His instinct was to fight, but before his instinct could work, Jerry's lips covered his own. He made a small, muffled sound of protest, but then a strange sensation overcame him as the blood passed to his own lips and he accidently tasted it. As Jerry's tongue flicked against his own, Peter felt it again but more so; it made his limbs weak and his mind soft, his blood stir. He could feel his cock throbbing more urgently than ever, and the rest of him relaxing, letting go. His pulse slowed, and his sense of urgency left with the uncurling of his muscles. He parted his lips willingly, allowing Jerry better access, and moved his own tongue tentatively.

After a moment, Jerry bit his lip gently and drew back, finding Peter's eyes. Peter looked up at him hazily, unmoving. Satisfied, seeing the look in Peter's eyes, Jerry smirked and moved down his body to kiss his neck again. He pushed his bleeding fingertip between Peter's lips, and without hesitation Peter sucked on it, the taste stirring his blood and making him tremble with desire. He didn't notice the change in the vampire's eyes, or the gradual lengthening of his fangs, only felt him shudder slightly.

"I'm gonna let you choose," he said quietly. "Do you want me to fuck you, or turn you?"

Peter was only partly listening. His body was still reacting to the blood, and the rest of him was still terrified. He thought of his parents, himself, Charley, Ginger. He flinched when those hands caressed him again, and blurted, "turn me." He said it in a tiny voice, without thinking, and regretted it almost instantly.

Jerry had stilled, as if deliberating, then put his hand back to Peter's neck and pulled him forward. "Good choice," he murmured. "Means I get to fuck you all the time."

Before he realised what was happening, Jerry pulled him further into his arms and held his neck. The pain was swift, sharp and disorienting, but not as bad as Peter had feared. It was rough and violent, and he could feel the vampire's erection pressing against his leg the entire time, but he felt almost detached from himself, outside the experience. After what felt like a few seconds, the pain stopped and it was over. Jerry was panting and still gripping Peter tightly, but now he only lapped up the remaining blood like a cat drinking it's milk.

Peter was still conscious, still thinking. "That's it?"

"I'll do it again if you want."

"No.." he didn't feel like a mindless, emotionless monster yet, but he was starting to feel weird. "I think I'm-" was as far as he got when his vision began to cloud over, and everything went dark.

Jerry let him slump in his arms. "Yeah," he said to the unconscious figure.

Dalton, K. M., Nacewicz, B. M., Johnstone, T., Schaefer, H. S., Gernsbacher, M. A., Goldsmith, H. H., ... & Davidson, R. J. (2005). Gaze fixation and the neural circuitry of face processing in autism. _Nature neuroscience_, _8_(4), 519-526.


	2. Chapter 2

It happened before Peter could do anything to stop it. Charley's eyes went wide and dead in a way that was terrible to see, and his body went limp in the vampire's arms. It took Peter a moment to get over the initial shock and snap out of the horror the sight wrung in him, but then his survival instinct took over and he tore away. Thrashing through all of them, he somehow made it to the stairs. It was useless; he was bitten, what was going to happen was going to happen, but that didn't mean he had to stick around and make it easy for them. And it looked like he actually stood a chance. Jerry was nowhere to be seen, and the others weren't attempting to follow him.

He woke up with a start. It took him a moment to realise that he'd been dreaming; Charley wasn't dead. _He_ was dead, or turned, or turning; any of which were quite likely as he was now in the vampire's basement. He sat up in the dust and looked around, bewildered. He couldn't see anyone, and he didn't feel any different. Feeling a little surreal, as in his dream, he made for the stairs. Stumbling out of the basement door into a dimly lit room, making blindly for the hall, he ran straight into the vampire. Jerry caught hold of him easily, unhurt, and started laughing. "Daytime, Peter. You're not going anywhere."

Struggling was like trying to wrench himself out of a steel vice, and Jerry took no notice. He held onto him with one hand easily, and brushed a strand of his hair out of the way and, instead of what Peter was expecting, cradled his head and kissed him. The blood in his mouth tasted strange, but not unpleasantly so. It had a fast-acting effect, making him feel giddy and disorientated, his mind and limbs softening. He made a weak, muffled sound of protest and tried to dislodge their mouths.

Jerry's hand went up to his hair and ran his fingers through it in a way that somehow felt _nice_, nurturing. Feeling him weaken under the touch, Jerry kissed him harder, this time flicking his tongue into Peter's mouth, and the coppery taste sending endorphins to his brain. Releasing his mouth, Jerry moved down to Peter's throat, kissing him there gently. The hand tangled in his hair moved to stroke his cheek, then grazed down the skin of his neck to his collarbone, finally coming to rest on the nape of his neck. The trail of kisses moved down the sensitive patch where his shoulder and neck joined, still soft, with no feeling of fangs.

Peter gave an unwilling little moan in the back of his throat and closed his eyes. He could feel himself getting hard. He felt sick and scared right down to the pit of his stomach, and part of him hoped he would faint, or just be killed, rather than be messed with like this.

The vampire's hand found the front of his jacket and unzipped it in a fluid motion. As his clothes were unzipped, unbuttoned and slid off his arms, Peter made a few feeble protests and attempts to push Jerry's hands away, hoping he wouldn't feel the way his cock was reacting. Jerry took no notice, merely pulled Peter closer and began to explore his back and chest with his palms, running them down the length of Peter's arms to his hands, bringing one up to his mouth to kiss the palm and fingertips. Peter normally like going this slow, in any circumstances, but he hadn't been touched like this in so long, and it was starting to feel wonderful.

He still felt light-headed, and came forward like a rag-doll when Jerry pulled him down to the floor. Jerry kissed his throat again, briefly, then moved down to his run his lips over a nipple and flicked it with his tongue while gently teasing the other, tracing circles around it with his claws and pinching it gently. When he had got a satisfactory amount of noise out of Peter, he stopped to pulls his jeans off his hips, along with his boots and boxers. Still with his eyes closed and face averted, Peter felt a brief rush of air, presumably the vampire removing his own clothes.

There was a little pause, and Peter could feel himself being looked over, too scared to open his own eyes. Then the vampire's hands were stroking him again, and he kissed him. This time, Peter couldn't taste any blood. Jerry's mouth was warm and his tongue was skilled, dominating Peter's with ease. His hand went back to Peter's hair, discovering quickly that he liked the feeling of being groomed. He bit Peter's lip then, but gently, nowhere near to drawing blood, and his hand went between Peter's legs and wrapped around his cock.

Peter gave an involuntary little moan as his cock jumped in Jerry's hand, and, in what felt like a reward, Jerry began to deliver hard, firm strokes. Panting, and beginning to feel slick with sweat, Peter let weak pleas fall from his lips, unsure if he was begging for more or the end. Jerry kissed his abdomen obligingly and trailed down, further down, until Peter's cock was in his mouth. Peter gave up holding back then, nearly sobbing with pleasure. Seconds later, he came undone.

After a moment, the vampire had moved back and Peter looked down, realising he had come as well. They looked at each other for a moment. Peter was convinced Jerry would be annoyed that they hadn't fucked and, bizarrely, heard Ginger's voice in his head mocking him for being early.

"Howcome you're alive?" he blurted.

"Your little books aren't completely accurate," he said with a shrug. He turned from Peter and began to pull his clothes back on. "I'm over 300 years old, Peter. It takes a hell of a lot more than a stake."

Peter began yanking his own clothes on.

"As you'll see," he added with a small smirk.

"I know what to do if I want to turn back," he said quickly, almost mumbling it. He pulled his shirt back on, and when he emerged, Jerry was still looking amused, unoffended.

"If," he repeated significantly. "Good luck with that."

"What time is it?"

"7am."

_Great._


	3. Chapter 3

Peter felt funny when he woke up. Unhurt and fairly comfortable, but cold. That was weird, but his sleep fuddled brain couldn't think why. He opened his eyes groggily, finding himself half dressed and on a bed that he'd not fallen asleep on. The sight of the insignia on the wall, hanging over him almost as if it were put there to gloat at him, froze him, rubbing his nose in what has happened. How could he be cold if he was turned? Was he losing his mind?

He shook the thought off, and paid more attention to his surroundings. Black-outs, books and things looking centuries old. No mirrors, obviously, and no sign of Jerry. At least there was a clock. His heart sank; over seven hours til sunset. He touched his throat tentatively before getting to his feet. Apparently he hadn't been bitten again, or fucked. He couldn't think why he'd been so lucky.

The floorboards creaked a little under his feet, but there was nothing he could do about that. Hopefully Jerry would be asleep in the dirt in the basement, where hopefully even vampire hearing couldn't range this far. A bathroom door stood open at the end of the hall, revealing more black outs, but the others stood closed, and Peter didn't feel like exploring. He made for the stairs and crept down as quietly as possible, eyes trained on the door. So close. As soon as he was there, he could run and he'd be safe. Whether he was turned or not, he'd be away from Jerry, safe. He'd figure something out. His heart gave a little jump as he reached the bottom stair. So close. He could get out of here.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Peter jumped like he'd been shot, and spun around. "Fuck." He felt like sobbing. He'd been so close.

Jerry was sprawled in an armchair watching him.

"Still daytime, Peter," he explained lazily. "Go back to bed. You look exhausted."

He wanted to kill him then. Not stake him or burn him but physically rip him apart and scream at him while he did it. The feeling deflated as quickly as it had come. He was exhausted and characteristically weak, he knew, and even if he wasn't, Jerry had the strength and experience of centuries. He was still sat there looking as if he had heard every detail of Peter's thoughts; that is, unbothered.

He seemed to stiffen ever so slightly then, but it was probably just Peter's imagination.

"How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" He snapped before he could stop himself. "I'm leaving as soon as its dark." He thought that would change the tone, but Jerry just smiled in a that's-what-they-all-say kind of way.

Peter took off back upstairs before he could argue. He didn't want to go back to Jerry's room, but the others, aside from the bathroom, were locked, so he made do. At least now his mind was clear enough to think. Things weren't so bad. Jerry wasn't making him sleep in the dirt or feed, so maybe it was happening slowly. His body was fighting it. He didn't feel different, and he was cold. And he didn't feel any sort of attachment to Jerry, despite the desperate attraction from before that hadn't risen its head since, or any heightened awareness, or new urges, or anything he knew he should expect.

He heard Jerry on the stairs then, and tensed. He considered attempting to barricade the door, but that would only buy him a few minutes in which he'd do nothing but panic. It's not like Jerry would keep anything that could be improvised into a weapon into his home. By the time he had made it to his room, Peter already felt defeated. It must have shown in his face, as Jerry smiled at him dolefully and ruffled his hair.

"Lighten up," he said, joining him on the bed.

"I don't feel any different, you know."

"Give it a while," he said cheerfully. "You can't turn as quickly when you've been under strain."

Peter wasn't sure of that, but he supposed Jerry was the expert.

"Seriously, how are you not dead?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Peter looked at him in confusion.

"When you were a kid, I didn't realise there was anyone still alive in that house."

"Then how did you recognise me the other month?"

"I just did. I couldn't think where from, and now I do."

That made no sense. Peter didn't bother voicing his skepticism.

"Is Charley dead?"

"No. Not turned either. But if you want him to be..."

"No."

"But seriously, about your parents..I am sorry."

"You haven't sounded very fucking sorry," he sneered.

"We'll, I am," he said easily, and leaned forward to nuzzle Peter's throat.

Peter gave a little sound of protest and half heatedly tried to move back. "Don't."

"Why?" His hands went round Peter's waist, pulling him closer. "You enjoy it. And it'll pass the time. Being housebound really does suck."

He tried to kiss Peter, but he shifted backwards just in time.

"Oh, come on, Peter."

"Why are you doing this?" He hadn't wanted to ask, but it was better to keep him talking. "I get that you've turned me, but why do you want to fuck me and keep me up here? Do you do this with everyone? Where is everyone?"

"Downstairs," he said levelly. "I just thought you'd want some space. You're more than welcome to join them."

Peter read a threat in his words whether one was intended or not. He hadn't seen any of them in the basement, though. Were they in the dirt?

"Anything else?"

Peter said nothing.

He stroked a lock of hair from Peter's forehead, ignoring his flinch. "I teased you about your parents because I don't make a habit of killing families or kids if I can help it, so I forgot what it must have felt like."

Peter had to fight the urge to sneer, or burst into tears.

"But that shouldn't stop you sleeping with me."

He gave a strange little laugh, looking at Jerry's hand instead of his eyes. Sun-deprived and strong, and stroking his hand.

"I want you to feel close to me, Peter." He gave a little snicker. "I'll make it up to you."

Tears did prick his eyes then. "You're a bastard."

"And you're stuck with me. At least for another seven hours."


	4. Chapter 4

This time, they did sleep together. And somehow it made Peter feel better than he'd ever felt in years. He locked himself in the shower afterwards and felt too numb to even May become nightfall, maybe Jerry actually would let him leave, as he seemed to have got what he wanted. Or maybe Peter would have to break out, and it may take him longer than one night. Long enough for Jerry to get him to feed. So far, his body was doing a pretty good job of fighting it. He had no urges, and he just didn't feel any different; no heightened senses, no super muscles. If he could just get out and get to his books, and possibly Charley, he could fithesis. It could be all right.

"Do you know why it felt so good?" Jerry called through the door, making him jump..

"Piss off, Jerry!" he yelled back when he had recovered. The fucking_ creep_.

"Let me in," he said, his words causing fear to settle in the pit of Peter's stomach. He swallowed.

"Why? Can't you leave me alone for five minutes?"

"Because you're crying."

He stiffened, and touched his knuckles to his eyes in surprise. "I'm fine," he mumbled into the cascade of water, wiping them. Then he raised his voice. "I'm fine. I want to be on my own. To have a fucking shower in peace."

Even as he spoke, he was trying to crowd out images of them having shower sex in his brain. He hoped the door would hold if Jerry insisted, because his willpower really wasn't up to much just then.

Jerry was laughing. "Come on. If you're really leaving, don't you want to go one last time?"

Peter squirted shampoo into his palm and began scrubbing it into his hair, focusing on ignoring Jerry. Focusing on not saying something the vampire wouldn't be taken in such good humour. He didn't hear from Jerry again, so he assumed he'd gone away and eventually relaxed. He turned his mind back to them earlier, closing his eyes and letting the water clean him. Before they'd had sex, full on, full blown consensual sex, Jerry had asked him the same question, and Peter had answered with the tears evident in his voice.

"I don't want to hear it."

Jerry had laughed but took pity on him and let it go. And fucked him rather than mocked him.

When he was out of the shower, he wanted to sleep again. Why was this day so fucking long? And why was he tired instead of surged with adrenalin? His new vampire stamina should be able to cope with vampire sex. And if he'd been slipped any medication in hospital, his new body should have caused it to wear off.

He found Jerry lounging on the bed, reading.

"Why am I so tired?" he snapped. He had some vaguely masochistic urge to see if he could push Jerry, actually piss him off. What he would actually do to hurt him.

Jerry didn't look up. "Maybe it's your PMS."

"Ha, ha. You're so funny, Jerry, so fucking funny. If Charley doesn't fuck you over again, you should try stand up."

There was a little silence. Jerry was looking at him now, and his face was a perfect blank, not angry, but that was somehow all the more terrifying. Peter's brain had frozen and all he could feel was his heart. He backtracked. He hadn't said anything _that_ bad.

"Well, haven't you got brave," Jerry said dryly. He didn't say anything else, but Peter somehow knew he wasn't off the hook.

"Sorry," he muttered eventually. "I'm - tired."

And scared. And bitter and furious at you. His eyes automatically sought out the clock.

"Two hours," Jerry murmured, and Peter's eyes snapped back to him. His eyes were wandering over Peter's still damp body, and Peter had to physically repress a _shiver_. And not one of disgust. Fuck. He wanted to sleep.

"Come on," Jerry said as if reading his mind, slapping the bed. "Lie down. You won't sleep all night."

"You won't wake me if I do. Or you'll lock me up."

Jerry made his _come on_ face at him, and held out his hand to him.

Peter wanted to test his rebellion a little further, but he ended up slumping on the bed at a non-touching distance from Jerry.

"I'm not sleeping," he murmured, half to himself. He could stay awake for two hours. He could.

"Sure," Jerry said disinterestedly. "So," he said, after a moment. "You and Charley. You guys still in touch?"

"No."

"Hm. Why would you lie about that?"

_ Damn._

"Just friends?"

"Of course," he snapped. "He's 17."

He felt Jerry shrug.

"And you really don't want him turned?"

"You're giving me the choice?" he sneered.

"Well. Funny you should ask."

Peter sat up, taking the bait.

"Stay for a bit, and I'll leave Charley alone."

"You mean you'll kill him in future as opposed to now? That's nice of you."

"Don't be dense. I mean I won't hurt him ever if you stay. Well. Unless it's self defense."

"And you want me to stay- "

"Not forever," he said quickly. "A few weeks, a few months. It's better for you, anyway. You've got a lot of getting used to."

Peter thought about it. "What if you're lying?"

"I don't lie. I don't need to."

"That's great, but what if you're lying? How can I know?"

He shrugged. "What do you want me to say? I'll make you a contract if you like."

_Bastard._

"You've got a little while to think about it," Jerry said lazily. "And I'm not talking about locking you up or anything. Just stay, learn things...you were meant to stay in hospital for 2 weeks, right? So you can't say you have to take care of things at work."

Bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastard. He was such a creep. Peter hoped he could read his mind.

"I can smell your frustration," he mused. "It's kind of hot."

Peter sighed then, feeling some of his anger deflate with it. Because he'd been expecting something like this all along. If Jerry wasn't doing anything to him or keeping him by brute force, he must have something else up his sleeve.

He could go straight to Charley and they could work something out. Or, he could go straight to Charley and get him and possibly his mother killed. Or. He could stay, learn how to use his new strength and abilities to the best possible advantage in the shortest time possible, and _then_ go to Charley and work something out. Maybe.

He was going to stay. It might mean him hating Charley forever, but he was staying. He didn't say anything. He could still change his mind in the next two hours or so.


End file.
